A Most Painful Mask
by chibi-en-miettes
Summary: As he glanced up at the boy, he could swear his headache was getting even worse, if that was at all possible. He couldn't stand to keep up this ruse, of all the masks Kyouya wears, this is the one that pains him the most. Sequel to Fake Smiles.


**A Most Painful Mask**

_I should tell you I should tell you  
I should tell you I should -- no!  
Another time -- another place  
Our temperature would climb  
There'd be a long embrace  
We'd do another dance  
It's be another play_  
**--Another Day,** _Rent_

_'I want to confess my feelings for you-'_

'I find that all these years I've know you have meant a great deal to me and that-'

'I must confess that my sentiments toward you extend beyond simply friendship-'

'Tamaki, I love you-'

Kyouya hit the backspace key on his laptop as aggresively as seemed at all possible. Obviously, it was a bit too hard, seeing as the twins paused in their "Brotherly Love" play to glance up at him before continuing on with their lewd act.

Kyouya's gaze drifted across the room towads the blonde in question, seated in a chair, easily flirting with one of the last customers of the day; Kyouya felt a headache coming on. He resumed typing, this time concentrating on less personal business. Club came to a close and everyone left. Welll, almost everyone. He glanced up, annoyed, at the blonde bidding a cheerful good-bye to the other hosts as they left; his headache was getting steadily worse. Tamaki was smiling; Kyouya wanted the "King" only to smile at him. He was greedy like that. He bent back over the glowing screen. Nevermind that Tamaki, he wasn't worth the trouble. Except that the fool--_his_ fool--was worth all the trouble that he managed to cook up and more. And, speaking of fools...

"Tamaki? What do you need now?" As he glanced up at the boy, he could swear his headache was getting even worse, if that was at all possible. He couldn't stand to keep up this ruse, of all the masks Kyouya wears, this is the one that pains him the most.

"Could we sit at a kotatsu and have hot pot when I go to your house tomorrow, Kyouya?"

Was that all he was going to blabber on about? For a moment, he had almost looked serious, as if he had something important to say. At the thought that he would actually utter the words Kyouya wanted most to hear, his heart had skipped a beat. Instead, the blue-eyed boy was going on about sitting at a kotatsu again; he was obsessed. Endearing, but obsessed. But as endearing as it was, he was forgetting, "It's spring, Tamaki," and there was no way Kyouya was going to sit at one in the climbing heat that was taking over Japan. Tamaki looked vaguely disappointed. The dark-haired boy had to admit, he was a bit saddened the other wasn't going into his usual theatrics; as annoying as they were, they amused him.

Kyouya began to gather his things. He shoved his laptop into his bag. He had to admit, he was vaguely disappointed, as well.

"Let's go Tamaki."

His headache was definately worsening at this point. They walked together towards the door and, as pathetically sentimental as it was, Kyouya almost wished he could hold Tamaki's hand. They reached the door all too soon. He paused, giving the boy a last chance.

"Was that all you wanted to ask?" He was surprised at how hard he had to work to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.

"Yeah, Kyouya. That was all," was the glib reply that left his mouth. His cheerful tone broke Kyouya's heart. He was clueless. Kyouya quickly threw out an acutal response to his original question about the kotatsu, but inside he was screaming.

"Is that alright?" he finished. He wanted to get away, to run from this place and forget about the unnatural feelings that consumed him.

They left, Kyouya's secret safe. Honestly, he didn't know what he was waiting for. Obviously, Tamaki would never say the words he wanted him to. He knew he would never say he loved him--not unless Tamaki made the first overture, at least. Because, as much as he hated it, Kyouya did have an appearance to keep up; Tamaki didn't.

'What I would do to be in your shoes,' he mused as he climbed into his limousine, 'free to tell you how much I care.'

That would never be. 


End file.
